


Dorian and Manon fluff during KoA

by sarah_bae_maas



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 16:00:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16857031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarah_bae_maas/pseuds/sarah_bae_maas
Summary: posted June 24, 2017





	Dorian and Manon fluff during KoA

Dorian trudged up the steep hill, the mud so deep and thick that it fell into his calf high boots and drowned his feet. He may as well abandon his shoes at this point, they were certainly doing him no good. He wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead, his whole body overwhelmingly hot despite the cold winds, and pushed his legs harder. His strength was wavering, but he had to make it back to her.

He let the stars guide and distract him, pinpointing specific constellations that reminded him so much of home that he forgot where he really was. He saw Mala’s Trail and thought of when as boys, he and Chaol would hide from their tutors in tall trees and throw acorns at nobles as passed under. He gazed at Annieth’s Sword and Belt and remembered the night he had kissed Celaena – no, Aelin – under the cover of darkness. He peered at the Circle of Seven, and thought of Sorscha and how she would gently rap his wounds with her delicate fingers. He looked for the Crown, but stopped. He wasn’t ready to think about the fate of his mother Georgina or his brother Hollin. Lastly, as he came to bridge of the hill, he saw the twinkling stars that made up the Wings of the Wyvern. As a young boy, his father had let him sit in his lap and would tell him many a story about the creature on their crest.

But his father was dead now, and seeing the lights that outlined the shape of monstrous wings in the sky made him think of something else entirely.

“Can you hurry up?” Asterin snorted as she came to meet him at the top of the hill. She was in just as filthy a state as he was, and he was glad he wasn’t the only one covered in dirt and Gods know what else. Asterin, however, had not been given the task to collect foods and test out magic while she did so, so she was still far livelier than he was.

“I’ll take your advice under consideration.”

Asterin rolled her eyes and held out her hands to one of the menschen sacks he was holding. “It would be best for you to put your charm to use, she’s awfully testy at the moment. The scratch on Abraxos’ hide has yet to heal.”

Dorian furrowed his eyebrows in concern, not for Abraxos who he knew would be perfectly fine, but for the Queen who would run herself into the ground without a second thought if it meant protecting the ones she loves.  

Dorian didn’t reply, just continued his hike to the Thirteen’s camp.

All the women were there, snuggled in close to their Wyverns to keep warm. They had risked a small fire, the stormy grey clouds and searing winds covering any hint of smoke, but it was still freezing. Dorian’s bones were aching from every effort to move, even if the full force of the storm upon them hadn’t hit him yet. He wished he knew how to control his magic so he might warm them all up, but he wasn’t Aelin or her fae prince.

Anyone could spot Manon. Her white hair was loose and she was pacing back and forth furiously. She was muttering to Abraxos as his eyes lazily followed her every step, occasionally huffing or whining. It was rather comical to watch, but from the sneer on her face Dorian predicted that if he pointed it out he might lose his eyes.

“Witchling,” he called gently instead.

“Where have you been?” She snapped. The tone she used cut through any warmth his body had mustered from his walk, slicing him open and letting the bitter cold have its way with him.

“I was looking for food and practising my magic, just as you suggested.” His voice was placating, like he was talking to a wild hound. He even spread his hands out in a gesture of peace.

“That was _eight_ _hours ago_.”

“Why does it matter, Witchling?”

“Because how are we supposed to kill an ageless king and his evil spawn if you can’t stay put for a day, Princeling?” She battered her eyelashes at him but her smile was nothing short of savage. If Dorian didn’t know better, he’d say Manon had been worried about him.

They hadn’t had sex since that night on the boat, and excluding a few grazing touches and distracting flirtation, no situation had come even remotely close. It might have, if they hadn’t been surrounded by witches and wyverns. Dorian could not deny his body’s reaction at the thought of her scarred skin under his hands and tongue, but for the first time in his life, a woman could not seem to be less interested in him.  

He looked away and didn’t say anything, instead dumping his findings for the day near the flickering fire. He sat down took off his shoes and socks, wiggling his toes over the flames to dry the mud and warm his feet. The Thirteen, who had been curiously watching his interactions with Manon, went back to doing their own thing: talking, reading, planning, scheming.

He let his mind wander back to the constellations, and before long a body gracefully sat next to his. He didn’t turn to look. The witches around him started wondering to their bedrolls, all tucked under the mighty wings of their wyverns, and quickly feel asleep. Not knowing know the next moment you’ll get rest makes it easy to fall on command.

“I was worried when you didn’t come back.” Manon whispered.

“Why?”

“Because you’re mortal and fragile.”

Dorian snorted and turned further away from her. “Good to hear.”

Dorian decided to lay down then and there. He was exhausted from the day’s events, and to keep warm he couldn’t stray from the fire. He had settled in a semi-comfortable position, ready for the day to be officially over. Tomorrow was the day they flew to Crochan land, a last resort to find allies. And when he said they, he wasn’t including himself. He had done as much as he could and now it was time to reunite with this brother Chaol, down safe in the south.  

He needed his best friend more than ever right now. Dorian had never felt so conflicted in his life. He knew he should not feel for Manon the way he should, it had always been about a release for them, but he couldn’t help the way his breath hitched when her eyes glittered as the sun rose, or the goose-bumps that lined his flesh whenever he heard her raspy voice. More than anything, his chest ached with guilt. When he looked at Manon, he forgot about everything else: Adarlan, the war, Sorscha…

How could Dorian fall so quickly in love, again?

Dorian knew Manon was still next to him, could hear her breathing, could sense her intoxicating body. When she laid a hand on his arm, a zip of energy raced to his heart and spread to the rest of his body, making him shudder. This had happened before. What hadn’t happened was her standing up and stepping over his body, just so she could curl in front of him. She put one hand on his face, and closed her eyes.

“You aren’t fragile.” She said through gritted teeth. “You are brave, and strong, and the king this cursed continent needs. I just can’t bear the thought of you being anywhere but by my side.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before we all decided it would be best I leave?” He risked a hand to her waist, and at his touch she moved closer to him so their bodies were pressed together.

“Because you are kind, and I detest the thought that my brutality will mar that. I am not ashamed of who I am, but it scares me that one day you could be.” It was the most candid and sincere she had ever been, and it made his eyes sting.

“That will never happen, but either way I have to leave tomorrow.” He told her. It was the truth, his time with this coven was over.

“Even if I asked you to stay?” She tangled her legs with his.

“We’ll reunite again, someday.” Dorian knew not when that would be, whether in this life or another, but the queen in front of him would not easily escape his grasp.

Manon opened her mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by an earth-shaking boom as Abraxos planted himself next to them, the gust from the wyvern’s movement blowing out the fleeting fire. He wrapped his wings around the king and queen, and wiggled until comfortable. Dorian didn’t know from childhood stories that wyverns snored, but oh how Abraxos certainly did.

“Good night, Witchling.”

Manon leaned forward and pressed a hesitant kiss to his lips. “Good night, Princeling.”


End file.
